


Trade

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Series: The Odalisque Timestamps [16]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Groping, Longing, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Rent Boy, Rutting, Semi-Public Sex, playfulness, selcouth verse, vignettes of sex and violence verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Bright eyes, wild as a river in spring thaw, with curls of hair that hang over like shadowing branches. Hannibal has never been sure what indications are given subconsciously between boys like them - taking only private clients rather than street work has kept him from meeting very many - but he knows. Something in the press of the Will’s tongue between his lips, or the way he sets his teeth against them, in the curve of his neck as he tilts his head aside.</i>
</p><p>  <i>In an instant, Hannibal knows, and only just restrains a smile.</i></p><p>Two of our most notorious rent boys happen to meet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HarleyQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarleyQueen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Selcouth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328544) by [drinkbloodlikewine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine), [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite). 
  * Inspired by [Odalisque](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847926) by [drinkbloodlikewine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine), [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite). 



> The brilliant [Harley](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/HarleyQueen) asked for a crossover between Selcouth and Odalisque, namely, our two little rent boys meeting.
> 
> Now, this could have gone a myriad of ways, and this was the one that came to us initially. Keep in mind, that were either in a more playful or daring mood, there would have been violence. But, we can guarantee, no death. So who knows, perhaps we'll see these boys meeting again!

Will takes his third champagne glass from a passing waiter and forces himself to drink it slowly.

It is the fourth event that Will has attended since Hannibal left Baltimore, second by invitation and first for genuine interest. It is a conference regarding the FBI collaboration with psychiatrists on cases. Not quite profiling, but close enough to allow Will an invitation. Neither Zeller nor Bev had come, both too far removed from profiling to be invited expenses paid, and not one of them could afford it without.

So. Will drains the third glass and draws his lips back on a snarl of displeasure.

He knows that somewhere will be Jack Crawford, somewhere will be people he has seen make their way through the FBI headquarters, somewhere will be that one little fuck that he gives for all of this.

His eyes scan the crowd, searching, and settle on a particular set of shoulders, broad and strong, fitted into a beautiful bespoke suit of dark lavender. Hair combed back and elegant, jaw striking when the man turns and it hits Will, then, that he is not a man at all but a boy. A boy just like him.

Interesting.

Will sets his now-empty glass on the next serving tray that passes, and makes his way closer. To greet, he thinks, just to say hello. But he finds the young man's attention turned towards a voice, his smile immediately plastic and practiced as he greets his companion. Will bites his lip, smiling wide when he sees the man himself.

Doctor Frederick Chilton.

Curiouser and curiouser.

The young man sets a hand upon Frederick’s arm, and Will could laugh for the smug smile that curves the doctor’s lips as he does. Will knows he shouldn’t be surprised by it, after all of the temptation that had shown during their sessions together, but it’s no less delightful to watch it play out. He’s not seen the young man before, but his familiarity is immediate and questionable. The high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, elegantly thin mouth and wide jaw.

He looks like Hannibal.

Will presses a palm to his eye and then lets it fall.

Everyone looks like Hannibal. _Complicated grief disorder_ \- he’s suffering a loss and now seeing him everywhere, glimpses of men in crowds who when they turn to him, are not him. Flashes in the faces of others, a particular narrowing of eyes, a parting of lips, that for an instant feel as if Hannibal hasn’t fled to Europe but has come back for him.

The wine isn’t helping, neither is trying to rub away the visions of Hannibal from behind his eyes. The younger man is startlingly similar, and seeing him pressed close to Frederick fucking Chilton is too much, too funny and too infuriating all at once for Will to stop his steps from coming closer.

Frederick leans close to the young man who tilts his head obediently to listen, but past him, sees Will. The doctor doesn’t need to swear aloud - the curse shows in his widening eyes.

“Doctor Chilton,” Will calls out lightly, lest the doctor try to make a swift escape. “Frederick,” he adds, instead, brimming with delight.

“Will,” the doctor answers, straightening with a quick hand against the front of his coat, the other clutching to a glass of wine. “It’s good to see you getting out.”

Hannibal watches, every pull of muscle, every squint or flare of eyes in his client, and wonders immediately as to the nature of what’s caused it. He does not introduce himself, and imagines he won’t be, but finishes his glass in anticipation of being whisked away as the other boy comes into view.

Bright eyes, wild as a river in spring thaw, with curls of hair that hang over like shadowing branches. Hannibal has never been sure what indications are given subconsciously between boys like them - taking only private clients rather than street work has kept him from meeting very many - but he knows. Something in the press of the Will’s tongue between his lips, or the way he sets his teeth against them, in the curve of his neck as he tilts his head aside.

In an instant, Hannibal knows, and only just restrains a smile.

"You know, I do enjoy going out," Will says, grinning, taking up another - unnecessary - glass from another passing tray. "I've always enjoyed going out. Being social is such a thrill to me, seeing people around me, new faces, new conversations, new friendships - hello." He holds out a hand to Hannibal, to his amusement and Frederick's horror. "He is charming isn’t he? He is so charming."

In truth, to say Will holds a grudge against the man is untrue; he doesn't care. And he can feel that his words are fueled by champagne and longing, and the need to be closer to something familiar, which both an old psychiatrist and a boy who looks just like Will’s doctor - not here, not _here_ \- fulfill beautifully.

"I didn't know you attend these with company," Will continues, returning his eyes to Chilton with a smile as plastic as the one the boy had directed at him. "I would have come to more to meet it.”

“It?” Hannibal muses, withdrawing his hand with a tilt of his head, a mirror to the angle that Will holds his own in graceful laxity.

“Him,” Will corrects, lips pursed together just an instant too long on the last consonant. Just enough that both Hannibal and Frederick watch, the former charmed and the latter increasingly narrow-eyed.

“Yes, well - we both have our own lives,” Chilton responds. His tone is clipped, but he remains lofty, as much as he can considering the increasingly dire situation. “And how have you been? Busy, I’m sure.”

“Exceedingly,” Will drawls. He tucks the word behind his hand with a little laugh.

Hannibal looks to Frederick, content to assume the worst which in actuality isn’t so bad beyond the affect on his pocketbook. Still, he wonders at Will, who carries himself with such flagrant sexuality and clearly knows the man with some degree of intimacy. He’s not the kind of boy to be brought out in public, from his body language and his words, but perhaps he meets other needs that Frederick only on occasion requires from Hannibal.

He can’t help himself.

“How do you know each other?” Hannibal asks, his smile unwavering, warmly crinkled near his eyes. He motions with his glass to the conference at large, a quiet din around them. “Though one assumes it to be related to business.”

"You know, it entirely is," Will replies, watching the boy and the man he is with, the stark difference in their demeanor. He wonders who the kid is, beyond his obvious reason for being here and pocketing a hefty sum for the trouble. He wonders where the suit came from. Hell, he wonders where the kid came from.

"Frederick was once my doctor," Will continues, as Chilton tenses, curls his hand around his cane in displeasure. "He helped me through some really hard times in my life. I am forever grateful to him." Will finishes his champagne in one long swallow and gestures with it gently. "He is one of the reasons I took the opportunity the FBI offered me. I should drink him a toast."

"I feel you have had quite -"

" _Never_ enough, Frederick, not when it comes to pleasure, you remember," he turns to Hannibal again, closer this time, murmuring in his ear just loud enough for Chilton to hear him. "We had a scholarly disagreement once, Frederick and I."

The young man smiles, barely containing it. "Regarding?"

"Will -"

"- hedonism." Will bites his lip, deliberately slow in releasing it.

They are altogether the same - in occupation, in knowing the other’s trade without any explanation - and entirely different. Abandon rather than restraint, sexuality laid bare rather than withheld. Hannibal can see why, he assumes, Frederick has in all likelihood lain with this boy. Though it stings his ego, and his pocketbook in turn, it hardly matters what Hannibal’s clients do with their time, so long as they keep his number in the process.

“The Greeks certainly gave their due respect for it,” Hannibal murmurs against the rim of his glass.

“And for many other worthwhile pursuits,” Will grins.

“But it was an ethical hedonism,” notes Hannibal in turn. “Pleasure as the highest pursuit, however momentary and physical, so long as it does no harm to others.” He does not turn a sympathetic look to the older man fuming silently at his side. He doesn’t need to. He’s been paid by him and he will, however gently, play the part of gentle accompaniment to him by whatever means.

"Oh absolutely," Will grins, "entirely harmless. But that truly was the reason for our disagreement. I believed and still believe my choice of pleasure is harmless. Doctor Chilton wished to cure me of my consistent seeking of it."

"He is a very smart man," Hannibal chimes, taking another sip of wine as Will grins at him, past him, and allows the conversation to ease, taking the segue for what it is.

"He is worthily noted in his field. I am genuinely happy to see him here, considering one day we may consult on a case together." Will doesn’t mention that the consultation may be one-sided, Will’s words heavy as they trace the killer's pattern of death over this man's form. Will can feel his smile widen, eyes narrow at the thought, and leans to set his glass to a small table nearby, taking up a small samosa to place in his mouth instead.

He can feel the warmth of the young man at his side and he aches for him. The resemblance is striking, almost dizzying, and Will wants nothing more than to sink into him, for a night. Just a night. No death, no cover-up, just... comfort.

"Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me. Frederick," Will inclines his head to him, despite the man radiating anger at him, turns, then, to the boy beside him and gives him a lingering look before ducking his head to go.

“Good night, Will,” answers the doctor, curt, and Hannibal presses his lips together to still his smile.

“My sincerest wishes that you find what you seek,” he tells the other boy, their eyes catching again as Will grins and twists a curl of hair around his finger, vanishing into the crowd, towards one of the hallways spanning off the large reception hall. Hannibal notes this, but turns back to Frederick, lifting a hand without hesitation to smooth down the lapel of his jacket.

“One can only help those who wish to be helped,” Hannibal tells him, tilting his head until Frederick meets his eyes, and offering him a consoling smile.

“And he wants none of it,” the doctor intones, snorting. “I had to end his appointments for his misbehavior.”

“A wise decision,” assures Hannibal, “to alleviate yourself the burden of taxing your patience.”

Mollified, Frederick straightens, sweeping Hannibal’s hand from his chest lightly. “Indeed. A very poor influence, Hannibal, you would do best to have little contact with him. He is,” he pauses, seeking the word, and seethes, “malignant.”

Hannibal says nothing to this, but thinks still of champagne-damp lips curled into a broad grin. He contents himself with this for a time, staying near to Frederick’s side, offering praise whenever there is opportunity to do so. An old game for them, and familiar enough to come readily and without resentment. He meets doctors and bureau employees alike, he angles himself prettily, he adds to conversations only when invited and even then to return the floor to his client.

He excuses himself, hand against the doctor’s arm, and needs not offer an excuse. More’s the better, as Hannibal slips silently into the crowd towards the third hall from the door.

It is entirely unremarkable, just a hallway as many others in the center, but from a maintenance closet, halfway down, a skinny limb seeks out and pulls Hannibal in behind the small dark door.

"God, thought you'd never get away," Will murmurs, grinning and nuzzling against the body in front of him before just leaning up to kiss him. He's capable, in their line of work, if Will misread the signs in his partial inebriation, the boy knows how to tell him no.

He wonders what Frederick has told him, wonders what more mud and blood smear his name and finds he doesn't really much care. It just feels good to kiss someone again and not worry, not plan for his death and disposal.

"How do you deal with him, he is tedious."

Hannibal lifts his chin when Will’s mouth finds his throat, lifting on his toes and sinking again, hands upheld as if in stunned surrender. His shoulders press against the wall and a moan leaves him, little and pleasantly bewildered, and finally he lowers his hands to Will’s back.

“He pays me to,” answers Hannibal with a breath of laughter. “He pays me handsomely to keep him drunk on praise, and act as the smitten young protege who hangs upon his every word.”

“Is that all you hang on?” Will grins, blue eyes flashing bright as he lifts them.

Hannibal’s smile widens even as his cheeks grow dark at the question. He isn’t sure what to say, really, how much he should disclose or not about a private client. But he’s never met another boy who does what he does before, and he never imagined them as being so handsome as this. Despite his general disinterest in physicality without pay, he finds his body responding, and his eyes sink closed.

“He says that he declined you, as a patient,” Hannibal murmurs, amused. “Too problematic.”

Will laughs, drawing his tongue languid up to just behind Hannibal’s ear, humming as he mouths the lobe.

"My behavior was one of any civilized boy who wants a good fucking," Will purrs against him. "He declined me and I stopped paying him. Ironic." Will laughs suddenly, young and acting his age, and pulls back to look at Hannibal again.

"He was determined to cure me and I had no desire to be cured. All for the betterment of his career."

"He is not a drug therapist.”

Will grins, wide and warm and tilts his head, stepping closer and tugging Hannibal more so by the lapels of his coat, finding, to his surprise but not displeasure that although the boy is certainly here, he is not fully hard, not fully interested.

“I am addicted to something far more potent. And only marginally less dangerous.”

“I see,” huffs Hannibal, a little laugh. More to the point, he feels. Will’s hands spread over his chest, unasking - taking - and Hannibal bends his back from the wall, shoulders pressed and hips out. He is pliant for this boy, out of curiosity more than desire, though his body answers the touches and warm breaths regardless.

He has not willingly found himself with a boy so close to his own age. If he’s honest, he’s rarely found himself willing at all, but needs being what they are, he yields to the touches and he closes his eyes and he makes small sounds that please them. It’s new and exciting for him to think of doing this not for pay, but simply because he can.

And so he does, catching Will’s jaw with his hands and bringing him near again to kiss, mouths spreading hot together as Will sighs champagne sweetness against his tongue. They part enough to breathe, enough for Hannibal to ask, “How long have you -”

“Three years,” Will sighs, allowing the boy to keep his jacket but working his fingers deftly against his belt, the button and fly of his pants. “And somewhere in the low hundreds.” Blue eyes flick up and Will narrows them in pleasure, that answer needing no other information to be clear enough.

“But you… you are a curiosity,” he murmurs, kissing him again, moving to set one of Hannibal’s hands against his chest, curling his fingers forward, drawing them down. Not so much an education - he is certain the boy is capable - but an allowance.

“You are entirely the opposite of what I am.” Will nuzzles him gently again, catches a soft kiss before closing his eyes, allowing himself to lose himself for just a moment in a fantasy that he is home, he is pressed against Hannibal’s chest, and he is contented. “And yet here you are.”

“Here we both are,” answers Hannibal, slipping a hand through Will’s hair, watching the dark curls spread and twist around his fingers. “It all ends rather the same, does it not? Regardless of how we made our way to it.”

For a moment, he sounds just like him, and Will shivers. He hasn’t asked the boy’s name and he doesn’t want to know it, not when alcohol and longing have made the agony of his keeper’s absence fade, just a little. He presses his palms to the boy’s stomach and looks up to watch the darkening of his eyes, spanning little hands downward beneath Hannibal’s loosened pants to stir him to arousal.

“You needn’t -”

“I want to.”

Hannibal relents, lips parting on a sigh as he rests his head back against the wall and pushes his hips forward. They curl to rub steadily against the firm friction that tightens his cock, filling beneath capable fingers, and when he accidentally grips too hard in Will’s hair, the moan that resonates from the dark-haired boy widens Hannibal’s eyes.

So he does it again, a little harder, always a fast learner in this or anything else.

“Low _hundreds_?” Hannibal asks, laughing soft.

Will laughs, breathless. “A boy’s got to have his fun.”

He strokes until the boy slicks his palm, finds himself oddly charmed by the fact that two of them, as they are, can still find pleasure in the simple things like this, childish play in a closet at a convention, when one has a date and the other is trying to drink his way through the event without one.

“Is he rough?” Will asks suddenly, eyes blown from how his hair is pulled, how he is held by the young man in front of him. “Frederick, is he rough?”

He thinks of how he had once speculated, how he had once assumed that there would be force there, not for enjoyment of torment but because it was someone he could have power over and pay for the privilege. Will always assumed he would be a rough taker and a selfish lover.

Hannibal’s knees bend a little, dizzied by the rough stroke of Will’s hand against the ridge of his cock, pressing it against his belly, fingers curled. He ducks his head to watch the movement beneath his tidy little briefs, he wets his lips and sighs.

“Will you use it against me? Or him?”

“I won’t say a fucking word outside of this closet,” Will grins, pushing Hannibal upright again with a kiss dragged sucking against his throat. “Does he make you say his name?”

“I say it anyway,” Hannibal moans, both hands in Will’s hair to push him lower, unresisting as Will jerks his tie loose, the buttons of his shirt, and sinks kisses against his chest instead. “I say it because it pleases him.”

“When he fucks you.”

“Yes.”

“Hard?”

“Sometimes,” Hannibal swallows, muffling a laugh against Will’s hair. “Not often. He is far from, ah,” he sighs, “from _rough_ compared to most, in truth, he has no need to be. I go to my knees without his asking. I straddle him without his needing to demand. He is lazy in it, pleased to simply watch me work myself upon him, and so I suppose in tha- ah -” Another shiver rocks him when Will works his pants down to his hips and presses teeth to his collarbone. “In that he is - demanding, yes.”

Will’s laugh is low, a purr of a predator and he gentles his teeth against Hannibal’s skin, aware, still, of bruises blooming where none belong. He won’t jeopardise the kid’s job for a quick fondle in a closet. Honor amongst whores and all that. But he does not stop touching him, does not stop the little nuzzles, the little sounds that escape him as Hannibal’s fingers grasp his hair and pull it harder, draw nails over his scalp.

“Pity,” Will grits out eventually, pushing up to look at Hannibal, dishevelled and grinning and flushed, from nothing more than a hair pulling and the chance to stroke someone to pleasure. “I had him pegged for someone who needs to assert his control in the bedroom since he can’t in life.”

Hannibal laughs and Will kisses him, a deep lingering thing as he breathes the boy in, cool cologne and soft skin and clean, so, so clean. Will thinks of the man timezones away by now and whimpers, bringing a hand down to his own pants to open them, eyes up to Hannibal when the boy hums, sighs another little soft thing of pleasure.

“I’m clean.”

“Are you –“

“No, I just want to touch you,” Will sighs, kissing Hannibal’s cheek, smiling at how he has suddenly become pliant, sweet, when he is usually far from it in encounters like this. “If you’ll let me –“

“Yes,” Hannibal decides. For entertainment, for novelty - for fun, perhaps, with this boy so much like himself who is fascinating in his differences. Their lips tangle warmly, again and again, the sort of thing Hannibal only ever accepts when someone insists upon it and does not seek on his own. A curious comfort catches in their kiss, neither pressured now to be other than what they are - two boys on the same path despite what brought them there. Two boys alone, touching for the sheer simple pleasure of touching, and seeing the other respond.

Hannibal catches Will’s hips and turns him, pinning him against the wall instead and melting their mouths together. Elegant fingers work free his pants to let them slip from skinny hips, and to his surprise, he finds Will without anything beneath but his own skin, taut and pointing upward, damp across the tip. He allows himself to be forceful, a rare thing when men only want him to be sweet and simpering, and takes Will and himself in hand. The other plants against the wall, drawing Hannibal up taller still than he already is, and he presses their foreheads together, sighing rough when he strokes them together in a tight squeeze.

“Are you working?”

“Not tonight,” Will answers. “You are, though.”

“Yes.”

“So you can’t -”

“I can, if you like,” Hannibal responds, eyes narrowing in gentle amusement. “He doesn’t care whether I do or don’t.”

Will snorts, bringing a hand up to cover his face before tilting his head back with a sigh.

“Fucking prick.” He smiles when the boy laughs with him, a gentle sort of resigned agreement. Yes he is. Yes they all are. Does it matter?

Means to an end.

Will considers how his means and his ends must be so different from the beautiful boy before him. He does it for the release, for the fucking, for the sheer bloodthirsty need to kill after, to feel himself outlive yet another human being. He wonders if this boy is working for school, or his family, or just to get by. He wonders if he’s an artist or a musician, a talented boy whose flame Hannibal would want to smother and devour. He doesn’t ask. The less he knows the less likely guilt will stroke its cold fingers against him when he lets this boy return to the party unharmed, and forgets him.

“Have you ever –“

“Few.”

“I found one,” Will sighs, biting his lip on a groan as Hannibal pulls them a little tighter, brings his hand from the wall to Will’s hair again to pull it, drawing an even louder moan of pleasure than before from him for the treatment. “Just one.”

“Where did he go?”

“Far.”

“Will you follow him?”

Will laughs, a helpless little thing and closes his eyes as his body works closer and closer to pleasure at the delicate, capable, talented hands of this boy.

“Yes.”

Hannibal stops himself from asking why the man left - he stops himself from asking if he wants Will to follow. He stops himself altogether from thinking so much and tries, instead, something he’s not done before.

Closing his eyes, he tries simply to enjoy himself. Warm lips close against Will’s pulse, rippling like swift-moving water beneath his skin. He sucks until Will’s knees weaken and he laughs in protest, and finds himself smiling in kind, relenting, but only to taste him again where his neck curves to his shoulder, just beneath the collar of his shirt, against the hollow of his throat. The kisses fall slowly, gently, a steady beat that times the fast turn of his wrist, stroking them both from base to head, squeezing there, shivering when their precum mingles and slips slick between their cocks.

“Do you wish for me to -”

“No.”

“I will -”

“You still have to work tonight,” Will reminds him, halfway down the wall with Hannibal’s ministrations, warm and exploratory, silly and sensual. “Is he going to make you?”

“Yes.”

“Carpet?”

“Tile,” Hannibal sighs.

“God, he’s an asshole,” Will laughs, but his voice pitches into a needier sound when Hannibal grips the heads of their cocks together, eyes darkening in watching the flush of Will’s cheeks, the way his lips part damp and rosy. It takes little effort and only a release of Hannibal’s hand for Will to finish his ecstatic collapse to the ground, kneeling before Hannibal with a lifted brow.

Hannibal swallows. “Yes.”

Will doesn’t confirm if he’s sure, by this point he doesn’t care. He wants to feel him at the back of his throat, wants to swallow down everything and have the aftertaste in the morning. He wants everything.

He moans at the mingled taste of them both before pulling back, sucking Hannibal clean and sinking down again. Will swallows him and chokes, pulls back and does it again. Attentive and deliberate in his ministrations, pulling as much pleasure from Hannibal as he is sure the boy is capable or showing willingly. That’s what matters right then. That this boy had soothed him enough to not drink himself unconscious, that he had kissed and touched and nuzzled back, and it hadn’t been work for him.

Will slows down, forces himself to slow, and raises his eyes to watch Hannibal above him, one hand up against his forehead, not in his hair yet, not messing it, and dark eyes down, watching Will, feeling everything he gives him. Will wants to ask if he enjoys taking cock as much as he does, he wants to ask him if doing this when he genuinely wants to is just as much a rush as it is for Will.

He wants to ask, and he doesn’t.

Instead he just moans, sits closer and spreads his fingers against his lower back to bend him nearer.

Hannibal’s eyes slip closed. He bends as Will moves him, hips jutting forward, one hand slipping through Will’s wild hair, the other resting against the small of his back. They tangle fingers there, and Hannibal ripples with warmth at the tenderness of it, as Will sucks him with abandon. It’s enough to pull a moan from the tall blonde, for him to duck his head and thrust against Will’s tongue, curling along his shaft.

“You’re - you’re very good,” laughs Hannibal, squeezing Will’s fingers. Blue eyes flash amusement before Will leans back, tongue spread flat, and Hannibal watches him lick a broad swath against the bottom of his cock, threads of spit joining them even as Will pulls away.

It’s a far cry from patiently watching the ceiling and making little sounds on queue when unskilled fingers fumble with his foreskin, miles away from the dreary insistences that _you like that don’t you?_

“Please,” Hannibal asks, delight crinkling his eyes to find himself enjoying this so much. “Just the end, a little more?”

Will hums, adjusts his position and presses his lips just to the head, sucking gently there before he carefully pulls the foreskin back, tongue still working gentle patterns but now on skin so sensitive the boy above him bucks hard with it, makes a helpless noise, grips the wall.

“Like that, god, like that –“

Will knows. He knows what to do to have someone a sobbing mess at his feet, he knows how to do it bound and silenced, he knows how to do it to more than one person at once. And to this boy, he gives all of his attention, all of his effort to draw those pretty noises from him again.

It doesn’t take long, and Will lifts his eyes to watch the boy come apart as he fills his mouth and Will obediently, happily swallows.

Hannibal laughs, trembling from the force of it, ribbon after hot ribbon pulsing into the Will’s mouth. A rare pleasure, rarer still in that it is a pleasure, rather than merely succumbing to biology. His grip in Will’s hair gentles, cupping the other boy’s cheek instead, and he watches his cock slide free of his mouth, pearly cum still glossed across the tip.

Another laugh, sleepy and soft, looses itself from him when he lowers to his knees alongside in the cramped closet and shoves their mouths together again. Again. Again, tongues twisting where Hannibal can still taste himself, teeth grazing kiss-swollen lips, until Hannibal bears Will back against the floor. They keep their legs drawn up, Will’s knee raised, Hannibal’s long legs curled, because there’s no room to stretch, but there’s enough for this, splayed limbs tangled blissfully together.

A few moments more for them to simply play as youthful, giddy boys before returning to a world that does not see them as such.

Hannibal props himself up over Will, relenting to the breathless kisses, and he takes Will in hand again, thumbing beneath the head of his still-hard cock and squeezing tight.

Will makes a beautiful sound, a choked off little whine as he swallows and lets his lips stretch to a sleepy smile. His heart hammers and his body responds to this boy above him and he likes it. He wonders just how drunk he is that he wants to spend several hours more just wrapped in him, tasting and touching him, allowing himself to be touched in turn.

Too drunk and not drunk enough.

“Oh my fuck,” Will groans, thighs trembling as he bucks up. “Your fucking hands – shit.”

It feels good, it feels so good, and he wants to just sink into this, relish in it and rest. He catches Hannibal around the back of the head and yanks him down to kiss, feeding him the desperate little whimper-whine as he finally allows himself to cum, hot against the talented fingers that squeeze him. He kisses Hannibal in that languid sleepy way that suggests he’s too tired, too pleased for anything else. He laughs, and turns to rub his lips damp over Hannibal’s cheek.

“You’re really good at that,” he murmurs.

“I’ve been told,” answers Hannibal, amusement heating his voice to a warm resonance that masks his age from how young Will knows he must be. “Though it’s meant little coming from them.”

“Idiots,” Will agrees.

Hannibal pulls down a dustrag from the shelf above them and wipes his hand on it, well enough, before - in a moment of whimsy - putting it back from whence it came. He turns back to Will and grasps his arm to help him from the floor, and before he can overthink it, slips his arms around the other boy’s waist. A meaningless embrace, really, he knows that but the compulsion takes him to stay pressed close, at least until their hearts slow again.

Will doesn’t push him away, does little more than shift enough so their legs aren’t painfully bent or tangled and holds him back, humming his own gratitude against his skin. For the closeness, for the genuine enjoyment, for the – surprisingly – good conversation. He wonders if there is a point in telling him to call, in giving him the number to call. He will only be here one more week, ten days at most if flights are changed on short notice. He’s packed, he’s ready.

“You will say no, gentleman whore that you are,” Will soothes the term with a laugh, pulling back enough to rest his chin against Hannibal’s chest and smile up at him. “But if you want to leave him hanging, we can fuck off back to mine.” He grins, just a little. “You charged in advance, right?”

Hannibal’s eyes seem to brighten and darken all at once, a smile gathered in them that only just reaches his lips. “Always,” he murmurs. They share another little kiss, and another. “But he is consistent. Unoppressive. An, ah - asshole, as we’ve noted, but he asks little of me and does not argue prices. It would be untoward to offend him.”

“‘Untoward’,” Will grins, nose wrinkling.

Hannibal hums, and sets his lips against Will’s brow, arms wrapped loose around his middle. It is undemanding, this - it does not tax his mind or his body, his heart does not reach out for this boy but for friendship, and that in itself is enough when Hannibal has so few for whom he would use the term.

“After, perhaps? I would say we should go for drinks but I can’t imagine any bar would let us in together,” he muses.

“You go to the wrong bars,” Will mumbles, turning his head to nuzzle under the boy’s chin, over and over, repetitive and comforting, until he stops, until his heart slows enough and he hums, relaxed, in the arms that hold him.

It’s nice.

It’s surprising how much he needed that today, when he had anticipated finding someone to beat him senseless instead.

Will pulls back and draws his fingers gently through Hannibal’s hair before kissing his forehead.

“If you ever meet yours -” A conversation never finished, but continued now, quietly. “Quit the game. One instinct will scream at you not to, it’s easy and you’re used to it, and he’s just like the other fuckers out there. The rest will dither. Listen to them.”

Hannibal blinks. His expression gentles, and he listens to the secret whisper shared between them. The passion in Will’s voice, however softly spoken, moves his heart a little faster. Another blink, and the tension returns, just there beside his eyes, and beyond the wide-swept corners of his mouth.

“I’m not looking,” he tells Will.

And the blue-eyed boy just smiles.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Trade** : is a gay slang term originating from Polari and refers to the (usually) casual partner of a gay man or to the genre of such pairings.


End file.
